


cold kisses

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angry Kissing, Angst, F/M, First Kiss, Forgiveness, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, season 5 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 14:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Written for the Cousy Valentine's Drabble-thon. Prompts "angry kisses" and "Daisy or Coulson take the other to some place connected with their past".





	cold kisses

The landscape goes by, dark green trees and white houses, and Daisy herself alternates between anger and relief. She starts counting trees to distract herself from the former, and to avoid the temptation of talking to the person driving.

“We’re almost there,” Coulson says, as cryptic as he’s been all day.

That suits Daisy fine. She is not supposed to be talking to him. She’s happy he’s alive, of course, but there’s still the breach between them he caused when he forced her to come back from the future. There’s also the matter of her pride, too, because in the end Coulson _was right_. She wasn’t meant to destroy the earth. He risked it and won. And what’s worse, if she had stayed in the future Coulson would have died. The combination of anger at him and at herself making forgiveness especially complicated in this case; she can’t unentangled both, and she can’t forgive herself, so she won’t forgive him so easily.

They get out of the car - it was not a long drive from the base - and it is cold, but then again Daisy guesses this kind of place is always cold.

“Where are we going?” she asks, impatient, as they walk past gravestones.

“In a minute,” Coulson replies, and it’s gentle, not imposing at all.

Daisy walks a bit behind him, not wanting to get too close. They go down a small slope, an open bit of green, a few old trees flanking it. They seem to be alone in the place, perhaps because it’s quite late in the day.

When Coulson stops in front of one of the graves she comes up to his side, following his gaze.

Oh well.

She should have known.

What was she expecting?

And what was _he_ expecting?

“Why did you bring me here?” she asks, gritted teeth.

She asks because she’s angry. A different kind of angry, because now Coulson has forced her to see this, because now the image of a grave bearing the name Phillip Coulson will be in her head forever.

“I haven’t been here before, either,” he confesses. “No one has. I thought…”

“Is this some kind of sick way of preparing me for your death? Because I thought the events of last week made my position on it clear.”

She knows Coulson would never be consciously cruel to her, not this cruel. That he can’t be doing it on purpose. His expression tells her she’s right, as Coulson realizes he’s made a mistake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He stops himself as Daisy’s hand reaches out into his shirt, fingers twisted into the fabric.

“You’ve died twice, big deal. I’m probably going to die before you anyway, the way I’m going, so what the hell is your point? You thought showing me this would make me accept the idea that - that - that…”

The needle stuck on a record, he would like that image, so she unstucks it, bunching his shirt in her hand and pulling him in, letting all the fear of the past few days - the idea _Coulson dying_ , bigger and scarier than the idea that she might destroy the Earth, then the reality of Coulson _going to die, right now_ and the rush to stop it, how she feels like she hasn’t breathed since then and now her mouth greedy and angry, a pissed off mouth, pressed against his, cold lips in a cold cemetery, and Daisy sucking on them, biting, fighting, _punishing him_.

She stops and pulls back and holds Coulson at arms’ length, literally, as if she wanted to study him.

“I’m never ever going to accept your death,” she says. “You understand.”

Coulson nods, Daisy noticing his eyes, the unshed tears, and he looks young and soft and fucking fragile and she kisses him again, this time not because he almost died on her, this time she kisses him because _he didn’t_ , because he’s still in a world Daisy wants to protect him from, Daisy wants Daisy wants Daisy wants. Daisy _wants_. Him. With that the kiss twists right inside her mouth, it becomes something else, something with tongues and warmth and future.

And then Coulson’s arm go around her, and his freezing hands up to her hair, and he’s holding her while she kisses him, everything goes from angry and complicated to something that’s very, very clear, a switch turned on, a blinding light of realization, Daisy kissing happy kisses for the first time in she doesn’t remember how long, these slow and breathless, thorough and gentle kisses that go on for a while. 

When she lets go her hand loosens his grip on Coulson’s shirt, which she has left irremediably wrinkled, like physical evidence of a rage she know feels seeping away, ebbing off her body.

She’s sorry about one thing, though.

“I really didn’t mean for our first kiss to be in a graveyard,” she says, trying to stop herself from smiling against his mouth. And failing. “I’m not that goth.”

“Did you mean for it to be...anywhere else?” Coulson asks, fishing, and not hiding it too well.

“Not really, no,” she says. “This has taken me by surprise. I never thought you’d...”

She doesn’t finish that, but it’s clear what it means. 

Coulson’s eyes widen.

“You? I’m in my fifties, I’m missing an arm, and I’ve died twice. Imagine _my_ surprise,” he jokes. Daisy frowns. She knows Coulson well, self-deprecation is not his style. Why would he use it with her? He sighs and threads his hand through her hair. “You’re just so…”

He trails off. Like he can’t describe it. Daisy doesn’t mind. She bets it’s all good things, the way he’s looking at her, even if he can’t put into words.

He strokes her cheek, like that’s the best attempt he can manage.

“I’m sorry I lost it a bit back there,” Daisy says, her burst of anger obviously unfair. Especially in this place. A man deserves not to be yelled at while in front of his own grave.

In front of his own grave… Coulson is kind of a weird one, isn’t he? Daisy thinks. Maybe that’s why she likes him; hell, that might be the only reason why _he_ likes _her_.

Now he’s shaking his head.

“Don’t apologize. It’s all my fault. _I shot you_.”

He says it in a tone of disbelief, like he can’t quite conceive that’s what happened; even though Daisy is 120% certain he would do it again, if the situation were to repeat itself.

“With an ICER,” she points out.

“Still.”

She smiles. 

“I think…” she tells him. “I think I’ve forgiven you just now.”

She licks her lips and looks at him, at his mouth, the cold pale lips a little less pale and hopefully less cold now. Daisy thinks about kissing him again, forgiving him again, forgiving herself again. Since their _first_ kiss already happened on cemetery grounds, she guesses there’s no point in worrying about the second.


End file.
